 CHAPTER XVIII The replies to the telegrams were satisfactory. Peggy, adjuring him to write a full account of himself, announced her intention of coming up to see him as soon as he could guarantee his fitness to receive visitors. Jean ward. Peggy reçue, mille remerciements. The news cheered him exceedingly. It was worth a hole in the leg. Henceforward, Jean would be independent of Aunt Marin, of whose generous affection, in spite of Jean's loyal reticence, he had formed but a poor opinion. Now the old lady could die whenever she liked, and so much for better for Jean. Jean would then be freed from the unhealthy sacrum, from dreary little frellou, and from enforced consorting with the riffraff, namely all other regiments except his own, of the British army. Even as it was he did not enjoy thinking of her as hail fellow well-met with his own fellow-privates, perhaps with the exception of Phineas and Moe, who were in a different position, having been formally admitted into a peculiar intimacy. Of course, if Doggy possessed a more analytical mind, he would have been greatly surprised to discover that these feelings arose from a healthy, barbaric sense of ownership of Jean. That Moe and Phineas were in a special position, because they humbly recognized this fact of ownership, and adopted a respectful attitude towards his property, and that of all other predatory men in uniform, he was distrustful and jealous. But Doggy was a simple soul, and went through a great many elementary emotions, just as Monsieur Jardin spoke prose sur le savoir. Without knowing it, he would have gone to the ends of the earth for Jean, have clubbed over the head any fellow savage who should seek to rob in of Jean. It did not occur to him that savage instinct had already sent him into the jaws of death solely in order to establish his primitive man's ownership of Jean. When he came to reflect in his Doggy-ish way on the motives of his exploit, he was somewhat baffled. Jean, with her tragic face and her tragic history, and her steadfast soul shining out of her eyes, was the most wonderful woman he had ever met. She personified the heroic womanhood of France. The foul invader had robbed her of her family and her patrimony. The dead were dead and could not be restored. But the material wealth, God, who else, had given him this miraculous chance to recover, and he had recovered it. National pride helped to confuse issues. He, an Englishman, had saved this heroic daughter of France from poverty. If only he could have won back to his own trench. And later, when the company returned to Freilou, he could have had it of the packet and seen the light come into those wonderful eyes. Anyhow, she had received it. She sent him a thousand thanks. How did she look? What did she say when she cut the string and undid the seals and found her little fortune? Translate Jean into a princess, the dirty waterproof package into a golden casket, himself into a knight disguised as a squire of low degree. And what more could you want for a first-class fairy-tale? The idea struck Doggy at the moment of lights out, and he laughed aloud. "'Doesn't take much to amuse some people,' growled his neighbour, Penworthy. "'Sign of a happy disposition,' said Doggy. "'Where have you got to be happy about?' "'I was thinking how alive we are, and how dead you and I might be.' "'Well, I don't think it's a funny thing how one might be dead,' replied Penworthy. "'Gives me the creeps. It's all very well for you. You'll stump around for the worst of your life like a gentleman on a wooden leg. Perhaps like you have all the luck. But as soon as I get out of this, I'll be past fit for active service. And not so much of you're laughing and not being dead. See?' "'All right, mate,' said Doggy. "'Good night.' Penworthy made no immediate reply. But presently he broke out. "'What do you mean by talking like that? I'd ain't been dead.' A voice from the far end of the room luridly requested that the conversation should cease. Silence reigned. A letter from Jean. The envelope bore a French stamp with the Frodoe prose-spark, and the address was in a bold, feminine hand. From whom could it be but Jean? His heart gave a ridiculous leap, and he tore the envelope open as he'd never torn open envelope of pegies. But in the first two words, the leap seemed to be one in mid-air, and his heart went down, down, down, like an aeroplane done in, and arrived with the hideous bump upon rocks. "'C'est Monsieur!' "'C'est Monsieur!' from Jean. Jean, who called him Doggy, in accents that had rendered adorable the ones execrated syllables. "'C'est Monsieur!' And the following, in formal French. It might have been a comfort exercise in composition. "'C'est Monsieur!' is what she said. The military authorities have remitted into my possession the package which you so heroically rescued from the well of the farm of La Follette. It contains all that my father was able to save as his fortune, and on consultation with Maitre-Pépinot here, it appears that I have sufficient to live modestly for the rest of my life. For the marvellous devotion of you, Monsieur, an English gentleman, to the poor entrance of an obscure young French woman, I can never be sufficiently grateful. There will never be a prayer of mine until I die in which you will not be mentioned. To me it will be always a symbolic act of your chivalrous England in the aid of my beloved France. That you have been wounded in this noble and selfless enterprise is to me a subject of both pride and terrifying dismay. I am moved to the depths of my being. But I have been assured, and your telegram confirms the assurance, that your wound is not dangerous. If you have been killed while rendering me this wonderful service or incapacitated so that you could no longer strike a blow for your country and mine, I should never have forgiven myself. I should have felt that I had robbed France of a heroic defender. I pray God that you may soon recover, and in fighting once more against our common enemy, you may win the glory that no English soldier can deserve more than you. Forgive me if I express badly the emotions which overwhelm me. It is impossible that we shall meet again. One of the few English novels I have tried to read, our coup de dictionnaire, was ships that pass in the night. In spite of the great thing that you have done for me, it is inevitable that we should be such passing vessels. It is life. If, as I shall ceaselessly pray, you revive this terrible war, you will follow your destiny as an Englishman of high possession, and I that which God marks out for me. I ask you to accept again the expression of my imperishable gratitude, adieu, Jean-Bossierre. The more often Doggy read this perfectly phrased epistle, the greater waxed his puzzled him. The gratitude was all there, more than enough. It was gratitude and nothing else. He had longed for a human story, telling just how the thing had happened, just how Jean had felt. He wanted her to say, get well soon and come back, and I'll tell you all about it. But instead of that she dwelt on the difference of their social status, loftily announced they would never meet again, and that they would follow different destinies, and made him the adieu which in French is the final leave-taking. All of which to me, the unsophisticated, would have seen ridiculous, had it not been so tragic. He couldn't reconcile the beautiful letter written in faultless handwriting and impeccable French with the rain-swept girl on the escarpment. What did she mean? What had come over her? But the ways of Jean's are not the ways of Doggy's. How was he to know of the boastings of Phineas Macphail and the hopelessness with which they filled Jean's heart? How was he to know that she had set up most of the night in her little room over the gateway, drafting and redrafting this precious composition, until, having reduced it to sole devastating correctitude, and with aching eyes and head, made a fair and faultless copy, she once more cried herself into miserable slumber. A once Doggy called for pad and pencil and began to write. My dear Jean, I don't understand. What fly has tongue you? Quelle mouche vous a piqué? Of course we shall meet again. Do you suppose I am going to let you go out of my life? He sucked his pencil. Jean must be spoken to severely. What rubbish are you talking about my social position? My father was an English person, Pasteur Anglais, and yours a French lawyer. If I had a little of money in my own, so have you. We are not ships, and we have not passed in the night. And that we should not meet again is not life, it is absurdity. We are going to meet as soon as wounds and war will let me, and I am not your cher monsieur, but your cher Doggy, and— Here is a letter for you brought by hand, said the nurse, bustling to his bedside. It was from Peggy. Oh, Lord! said Doggy. Peggy was there. She had arrived from Dirtlebury all alone the night before, and was putting up at her hotel. The venerable idiot, with red crosses and bits of tin all over her, who seemed to run the hospital, wouldn't let her in to see him till the regulation visiting-hour of three o'clock. That she, Peggy, was a dean's daughter, who had travelled hundreds of miles to see the man she was engaged to, did not seem to impress the venerable idiot in the least. Till three o'clock, then, with love from Peggy. The lady, I believe, is waiting for an answer, said the nurse. Oh, my hat! said Doggy, below his breath. To write the answer he had to strip from the pad the page on which he had begun the letter to Jean. He wrote, dearest Peggy, then the pencil-points impressed through the thin paper stared at him. Almost every verb was decipherable. Recklessly he tore the pad in half, and on a virgin page he scribbled his message to Peggy. The nurse departed with it. He took up the flimsy sheet containing his interrupted letter to Jean, and glanced at it in dismay. For the first time it struck him that such words, to a girl even of the lowest intelligence, could only have one interpretation. Doggy said, oh, Lord, and oh, my hat, and oh, all sorts of unprintable things that he had learned in the army. And he put to himself the essential question, what the Hades was he playing at? Obviously the first thing to do was to destroy the letter to Jean and the tell-tale impress. This, he forthwith did. He tore the sheet since the tiniest fragments stretched out his arm to put the handful on the table by the bed, missed his aim, and dropped it on the floor, whereby he incurred the just wrath of the hard-worked nurse. Again he took up Jean's letter. After all, what was wrong with it? He must look at things from her point of view. What had really happened? Let him set out the facts judicially. They had struck up a day or two's friendship. She had told him, as she might have told any decent soul, her sad and romantic story. The English, during the Great Retreat, had rendered her unforgettable services. She was a girl of a generously responsive nature. She would pay her debt of gratitude to the English soldier. Her fine valet on the memorable night of rain was part payment of her debt to England. Yes, let him get things in the right perspective. She had made friends with him because he was one of the few private soldiers who could speak her language. It was but natural that she should tell him of the sunken packet. It was one of the most vital facts of her life, but just an outside fact. Nothing to do with any shy, mysterious workings of her woman's soul. She might have told the story to any man in the company without derogation from her womanly dignity. And any man, Jack of them, having John's confidence, having the knowledge of the situation of the ruined well, having the godsend opportunity of recovering the treasure, would, of absolute certainty, have done exactly what he, Doggy, had done. He should have been the privileged person instead of himself. What, by way of thanks, could John have written? A letter practically identical. Practically. A very comfortable sort of word, but Doggy's cultivated mind disliked it. It was a slovenly word, a makeshift for the hard broom of clean thought. This infernal practically begged the whole question. John would not have sentimentalised about ships passing in the night. No, she wouldn't, in spite of all his efforts to persuade himself that she would. Well, perhaps dear old Moe was a rough, uneducated sort of chap. He could not have established for the genre such delicate relations of friendship as exist between social equals. Obviously the finer shades of her letter would have varied according to the personality of the recipient. John and himself, owing to the abnormal conditions of war, had suddenly become very intimate friends. The war, as she imagined, must part them for ever. She made him a touching and dignified farewell, and that was the end of the matter. It had all been an idyllic episode, beginning, middle and end, neatly rounded off, a thing done and done with, except as a strange, romantic memory. It was all over. As long as he remained in the army, a condition for which, as a private soldier, how could he see Jean again? By the time he rejoined the regiment would be many miles away from Frodo. This, in her clear, steady way, she realized her letter must be final. It had to be final. Was not Peggy coming at three o'clock? Again Doggy thought, somewhat wistfully, of the old, carefree, full, physical life, and again he murmured. It's all damn funny. Peggy stood for a moment at the door, scanning the ward. Then, perceiving him, she marched down with a defiant glance at nurses and blue-uniformed comrades and men in bed and other strangers, swung a chair, and established herself by his bedside. "'You dear old thing, I couldn't bear to think of you lying here alone,' she said, with a hurry that seeks to cover shyness. I had to come. Mothers can't fud and can't travel, and dads running all the parson's shows in the district. I had to come, too.' "'It's awfully good of you, Peggy,' he said, with a smile, for fair and flushed she was pleasant to look upon. But it must have been a fiendish journey.' "'Rotten,' said Peggy, "'but that's a trifle. You're the all-important thing. Tell me straight, you're not badly hurt, are you?' "'Lord, no,' he replied, cheerfully, just the fleshy part of the leg, a clean bullet wound, bone touched. They say I'll be fit quite soon.' "'Want a cut off your leg or do anything horrid?' "'He laughed. Sure,' said he. "'That's all right.' There was a pause. Now that they had met, they seemed to have little to say.' She looked around. Presently she remarked, "'Everything looks quite fresh and clean?' "'It's perfect. Rather public, though,' said Peggy. "'Publicity is the paradoxical condition of the private's life,' laughed Doggy. Another pause. "'Well, how are you feeling?' "'First rate?' said Doggy. "'Nothing to fuss over. I hope to be out again in a month or two.' "'Out where?' "'In France, with the regiment.' Peggy drew a little breath of astonishment and sat up on her chair. His surprising statement seemed to have broken up the atmosphere of restraint. "'Do you mean to say you want to go back to the trenches?' Conscientious Doggy knitted his brows. Affervent, yes, would proclaim him a modern paladin eager to slay Huns. Now, as a patriotic Englishman he loved Huns to be slain. But as the survivor of James Mabukyutrava, a did-it-ante expert on the Theoboe and the Violdagamba, an owner of the peacock and ivory room in Denby Hall, to say nothing of the collector of little China dogs, he could not honestly declare that he enjoyed the various processes of slaying them. "'I can't explain,' he replied after a while. When I was out I thought I hated every minute of it. Now I look back I find I've had quite a good time. I've not once really been sick or sorry. For instance, I've often fought myself beastly miserable with wet and mud and east wind, but I've never had even a cold in the head. I never knew how good it was to feel fit. And there are other things. For example, when I was a little girl, I hadn't a man-friend in the world. Now I have a lot of wonderful powers who would go through hell for one another. And for me. Tommy's? Of course Tommy's. You mean gentlemen in the ranks? Not a bit of it. Oh yes, all are gentlemen in the ranks, all sorts and conditions of men. The man whom I honour and love more than anyone else comes from a fish-shop in Hackney. He's continued after a short silence during which she regarded him almost uncomprehendingly. I don't say I'm yearning to sleep in a filthy dugout or to wallow in the ground under a shelf-fire or anything of that sort. That's beastly. There's only one other word for it which begins with the same letter and the superior kind of private doesn't use it in latest society. But while I'm lying here I wonder what all the other fellows are doing. They're such good chaps. Out there you seem to get to essentials. All the rest is leather and prunella and I want to be back among them again. Why should I be in clover while they're in choking dust? A lot of it composed of desiccated boss. How horrid! cried Peggy with a little shiver. Of course it's horrid, but they've got a stick it, haven't they? And then there's another thing. Out there one hasn't any worries. Peggy pricked up her ears. Worries? What kind of worries? Peggy became conscious of indiscretion. He temporised. Oh, all kinds. Every man with a sort of trained intellect must have them. You remember John Stuart Mill's problem? Which would you sooner be? A contented hog or a discontented philosopher? At the front you have all the joys of the contented hog. Instinctively he stretched out his ham for a cigarette. She bent forward, gripped a matchbox, and lit the cigarette for him. Doggy thanked her politely. But in a dim way he felt conscious of something lacking in her little act of helpfulness. It had been performed with the unsmiling perfuncturiness of the nurse. An act of duty, not of tenderness. As she blew out of the match, which she did with an odd air of deliberation, her face wore the same expression of hardness it had done on that memorable day when she had refused him her sympathy over the white feather incident. I can't understand you wanted to go back at all. Surely you've done your bit," she said. No one who's done his bit who's alive and able to carry on, replied Doggy. Piggy reflected. Yes, there was some truth in that. But she thought it rather hard lines on the wounded to be sent back as soon as they were patched up. Most of them hated the prospect. That was why she couldn't understand Doggy's desire. Anyway, it's jolly noble of you, dear old thing. She declared with rather a spasmodic change of manner. And I'm very proud of you. For God's sake, don't go imagining me a hero, cried Doggy in alarm, for I'm not. I hate the fight. He liked poison. The only reason I don't run away is because I can't. It would be far more dangerous than standing still. It would mean an officer's bullet through my head at once. Any man who is wounded in the defence of his country is a hero, said Piggy defiantly. Rot, said Doggy. And all this time you haven't told me how you got it. How did you? Doggy squirmed. The inevitable and dreaded question had come at last. I just got sniped when I was out at night with a wiring party, he said hurriedly. But that's no description at all, she objected. That's all I can give, Doggy replied. Then, by way of self to a sensitive conscience, he added, there was nothing brave or heroic about it at all, just a silly accident. It was as safe as tying up hollyhocks in a garden. Only an idiot boss let off his gun on spec and got me. Then let us talk about it. But Piggy was insistent. I'm not such a fool as not to know what mending barbed wire at night means, and whatever you may say you got wounded in the service of your country. It was on Doggy's agitated lips to shout a true, I didn't. But that was the devil of it. Had he been so wounded he could have purred contentedly while accepting the genuine hero's mead of homage and consolation. But he'd left his country's service to enter that of Jean. In her service he'd been shot through the leg. He had no business to be wounded at all. Jean saw that very clearly. What exposed himself to the risk of his exploit was contrary to all his country's interests. His wound had robbed her of a fighting man, not a particularly valuable warrior, but a soldier in the firing line all the same. If every man were doth like that on private missions of his own and got properly potted there would be the end of the army. It was horrible to be an interesting hero under false pretenses. Of course he might have been George Washingtonian enough to shout. I cannot tell a lie. I didn't. But that would have meant relating the whole story of Jean. And would Peggy have understood the story of Jean? Could Peggy, in her plain sailing, breezy, British way, have appreciated all the subtleties of his relations with Jean? She would ask pointed, probably barbed, questions about Jean. She would tear the whole romance to shreds. Jean stood too exquisite a symbol for him to permit the sacrilege of his vivisection. For vivisection she would, without shadow of a doubt. His long and innocent familiarity with Woundkind and Durdlebury had led him instinctively to the conclusion formulated by one of the world's greatest cynics in his advice to a young man. If you care for happiness, never speak to a woman about another woman. Doggy felt uncomfortable as he looked into Peggy's clear blue eyes, not conscience-stricken at the sight of himself as a scoundrel don't want. That never entered his ingenuous mind. But he hated his enforced departure from veracity. The one virtues that had dragged the toy-pom successfully along the rough road of the soldier's life was his uncompromising attitude to truth. It cost him a sharp struggle with his soul to reply to Peggy. All right. Have it serve. It pleases you, my dear, but it was an idiot fluke all the same. I wonder if you know how you've changed," she said, after a while. For better or worse, the obvious thing to say would be for the better. But I wonder, do you mind if I'm Frank? Not a bit. There's something hard about you, Marmaduke. Doggy wrinkled lips and brow in a curious smile. I'll be Frank, too. You see, I've been living among men instead of a pack of old women. I suppose that's it, Peggy said thoughtfully. It's a dud sort of place, Dirtlebury, said he. A dud? He laughed. It never goes off. He used to say in your letters that you longed for it. Perhaps I do now, in a way I don't know. I bet you'll settle down there after the war, just as though nothing had happened. I wonder, said Doggy, of course you will. Do you remember our plans for the reconstruction of Denby Hall, which were knocked on the head? All that'll have to be gone into again. That doesn't mean that we need curl ourselves up there forever, like caterpillars in a cabbage. She arched her eyebrows. What would you like to do? I think I'll want to go round and round the world till I'm dizzy. This amazing pronouncement from Marmaduke Trevor, Peggy gasped. It also astonished Doggy himself. He'd not progressed so far on the road to self-emancipation as to dream of a rupture of his engagement. His marriage was as much a decree of destiny as had been his enlistment when he walked to Peter Pan's statue in Kensington Gardens. But the war had made the prospect a distant one. In the vague future he would marry and settle down. But now, Peggy brought it into alarming nearness, thereby causing him considerable agitation. To go back to vegetation in Dirtlebury, even with so desirable companion cabbage as Peggy, just when he was beginning to conjecture what there might be of joy and thrill in life, the thought dismayed him, and the sudden dismay found expression in his rhetorical outburst. Oh, if you want to travel for a year or two, I'm all for it! cried Peggy. I can't say I've seen much of the world, but we soon get sick of it as a year and for home. There've been lots of things to do. We'll take up our position as county people, no more of the stuffy old women you're so down on, and you'll get into Parliament and sit on committees and so on, and altogether we'll have a topping time. Doggy had an odd sensation that the stranger spoke through Peggy's familiar lips. Well, perhaps not a stranger, but a half-forgotten, dead and gone acquaintance. Don't you think the war will change things if it hasn't changed them already? Oh, not a bit," Peggy replied. Dad's always talking learnedly about social reconstruction, whatever that means. But if people have got money and position and all that sort of thing, who's going to take it away from them? You don't suppose we're all going to turn socialists and pool the wealth of the country, and everybody's going to live in a garden city and wear sandals and eat nuts? Of course not," said Doggy. Well, how are people like ourselves going to fuel any difference in what you call social conditions? Doggy lit another cigarette, chiefly in order to gain time for thought. But an odd instinct made him secure the matchbox before he picked out the cigarette. Superficially, Peggy's proposition was incontrovertible. Unless there happened some social cataclysm involving a newly democratised world in ghastly chaos, which after all was a remote possibility, the externals of gentle life would undergo very slight modification. Yet there was something fundamentally wrong in Peggy's conception of post-war existence, something wrong in essentials. Now, a critical attitude towards Peggy, whose presence was a proof of her splendid loyalty, seemed hateful. But there was something wrong all the same, something wrong in Peggy herself that put her into opposition. In one aspect she was the pre-war Peggy with her cut-and-dry little social ambitions and her definite projects of attainment. But in another she was not. He found himself face-to-face with an amorphous, characterless sort of Peggy whom he did not know. It was perplexing, baffling. Before he could formulate an idea she went on, he was silly old thing, what change is there likely to be? What change is there now, after all? There's a scarcity of men. Naturally, they're out fighting. But when they come home or leave life goes on just the same as before. Tennis-parties, little dances, dinners. Of course, lots of people are heart-hit. Did I tell you that Jack Pornsby was killed, the only son? The war's awful and dreadful, I know, but if we don't go through with it cheerfully, what's the good of us? I think I'm pretty cheerful, said Doggie. Oh, you're not grousing and you're making the best of it, you're perfectly splendid. But you're philosophizing such a lot over it. The only thing before us is to do in Germany, Prussian militarism and so on, and then there'll be peace and we'll all be happy again. Have you met many men who say that? he asked. Heaps, Oliver was only talking about it the other day. Oliver, at his quick challenge, he could not help noticing a little cloud as a vexation pass over her face. Yes, Oliver, she replied, with an unnecessary air of defiance. He's been over here on short leave. Went back a fortnight ago. He's as cheerful as cheerful can be, jollier than ever he was. I took him out of the dear old two-seater and he insisted on driving to show how they drove at the front. And it's only because the Almighty must have kept a special eye on him that I'm here to tell the tale. You saw a lot of him, I suppose, said Doggie. A flush rose on Peggy's cheek. Of course, he was staying at the dinnery most of his time. I wrote to you about it. I made a point of telling you everything. I even told you about the two-seater. Say you did, said Doggie. I remember. He smiled. Your description made me laugh. Oliver's a major now, isn't he? Yes, and just before he got his majority they gave him the military cross. He must be an awful swell, said Doggie. She replied with some heat. He hasn't changed the least little bit in the world. Doggie shook his head. No one can go through it, really go through it, and come back the same. You don't insinuate that Oliver hasn't really gone through it. Of course not, Peggy dear. They don't throw MCs about like I'm doing. In order to get it Oliver must have looked into the jaws of hell. They all do. But no man is the same afterwards. Oliver has what the French called panache. What's panache? The real heroic swagger, something spiritual about it. Oliver's not going to let you notice the change in him. We went to the Alhambra and he laughed as if such a thing as war had never been heard of. Naturally said Doggie, you're not part of the panache. You're talking through your hat, Marmaduke. She exclaimed with some irritation. Oliver's a straight, clean English soldier. I've been doing my best to tell you so, said Doggie. But you seem to be criticising him because he's concealing something behind what you call his panache. Not criticising, dear. Only stating, I think I'm more Oliverian than you. I'm not Oliverian, with burning cheeks. And I don't see why we should discuss him like this. All I said was that Oliver who has made himself a distinguished man and will be even more distinguished and at any rate knows what he's talking about doesn't worry his head with social reconstruction and all that sort of rot. I've come here to talk about you, not about Oliver. Let us leave him out of the question. Really, said Doggie, I never had any reason to love Oliver, but I must do him justice. I only wanted to show you that he must be a bigger man than you imagine. I'm glad to hear you say so, cry-peggy, with a flash of the eyes. I hope it's true. The war's such a whacking big thing, you see, he said, with a conciliatory smile. No one can prophesy exactly what's going to come out of it, but the whole of human society, the world, the whole of civilisation is being stirred up like a Christmas pudding. The war's bound to change the trend of all human thought. There must be an entire rearrangement of social values. I'm sorry, but I don't see it, said Peggy. Doggie again wrinkled his brow and looked at her, and she returned his glance stonely. You think I'm mulish? She had interpreted Doggie's thought, but he raised a hand in protest. No, no. Yes, yes. We get that when he thinks we're a mule or an idiot. We get to learn it in our cradles. But in spite of your superior wisdom I know I'm right. After the war there won't be a bit of change, really. A duke will be a duke on a Costa Manga or a Costa Manga. These are extreme cases. The duke may remain a duke, but he won't be such a little tin god on wheels. He'll find himself in the position of an important tradesman. But between the two there'll be any old sort of flux. Did you learn all this horrible rank socialism in France? Perhaps, but it seems so obvious. It's only because you've been living among Tommies who've got these stupid ideas into their heads if you've been living among your social eagles. In Dirtlebury? She flashed rebellion. Yes, in Dirtlebury. Why not? Peggy dear, he said with his patient a pleasant smile. You are rather sheltered from the war in Dirtlebury. She cried out indignantly. Indeed we're not. The newspapers come to Dirtlebury, don't they? And everybody's doing something. We have the war all around us. We've even succeeded in getting wounded soldiers in the cottage hospital. Nancy Murdock is the AD and scrubs floors. Sissy James is driving a YMCA in Calais. Jane Brown Gore is nursing in Salonica. We read all their letters. Personally, I can't do much because mother has crocked up and I've got to run the dinnery. But I'm slaving from morning to night. Only last week I got up a concert for the wounded. Alone I did it and it takes some doing in Dirtlebury now that you're away and the musical association is perished of inannition. Old Dr. Flint's no-earthly good was killed in Mesopotamia. So I did it all. And it was a great success. We netted four hundred and seventy pounds. And whenever I can get a chance I go round the hospital and talk and read to the men and write their letters and hear of everything. I don't think you've any right to say we're out of touch with the war. In a sort of way I know as much about it as you do. Doggy, in some perplexity scratched his head. A thing which he would never have done at Dirtlebury. With humorous intent he asked, Do you know as much as Oliver? Oliver's a field officer. She replied tartly and Doggy felt snubbed. But I'm sure he agrees with everything I say. She paused and in a different tone went on. Don't you think it's rather rotten to have this piffy argument when I've come all this long way to see you? Forgive me, Piggy, he said penitently. I appreciate your coming more than I can say. She was not appeased. And yet you don't give me credit for playing the game. What game? he asked with a smile. Surely you ought to know. He reached out his hand and took hers. Am I worth it, Piggy? Her lips twitched and tears stood in her eyes. I don't know what you mean. Neither do I quite, he replied simply. But it seems that I'm a tommy through and through and that I'll never get tommy out of my soul. That's nothing to be ashamed of," she declared stoutly. Of course not, but it makes one see all sorts of things in a different light. Oh, don't worry your head about that," she said with pathetic misunderstanding. We'll put you all right as soon as we get you back to Dirtlebury. I suppose you won't refuse to come this time. Yes, I'll come this time," said Doggy. So he promised, and the talk drifted on to casual lines. She gave in the mild chronicle of the sleepy town, distrived plays which she'd seen on her rare visits to London, sketched out a programme for his all too short visits to the scenery. And in the meanwhile, she remarked, try to get these morbid ideas out of your silly old head. Time came for parting. She rose and shook hands. I don't think I've said anything in deprecation of Tommy's. I understand them thoroughly. They're wonderful fellows. Goodbye, old boy. Get well soon." She kissed her hand to him at the door, and was gone. It was now that Doggy began to hate himself. For all the time that Peggy had been running on, eager to convince him that his imputation of aloofness from the war was undeserved, the voice of one who, knowing its splendours and its terrors, had pierced to the heart of its mysteries, ran in his ears. Legate, fapeur. End of Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Of The Rough Road by William John Locke This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Simon Evers. Chapter 19 The X-rays showed the tiniest splinter of bone in Doggy's thigh. The surgeon fished it up, and the clean wound healed rapidly. The Lumie Penworthy's prognostication had not come true. Doggy would not stump about at ease on a wooden leg, but in all probability would soon find himself back in the firing-line. A prospect which brought great cheer to Penworthy. Also to Doggy. For in spite of the charm of the pretty hospital, the health-giving sea air, the long rest for body and nerves, life seemed flat and unprofitable. He had written a gay, irreproachable letter to Jean, to which Jean, doubtless thinking of the last word of the episode, had not replied. Loyalty to Peggy forbade further thought of Jean. He must henceforward think of Peggy and her sturdy faithfulness as hard as he could. But the more he thought, the more remote did Peggy seem. Of course, the publicity of the interview had invested it with a certain constraint, knocked out of it any approach to sentimentality or romance. They had not even kissed. They had spent most of the time arguing from different points of view. They had been near to quarrelling. It was outrageous of him to criticise, yet how could he help it? The mere fact of striving to exalt her was a criticism. Indeed, they were far apart. Into the sensitive soul of Doggy the war in all its meaning had paused. The soul of Peggy had remained untouched. To her, in her sheltered corner of England, it was a ghastly accident, like a railway collision blocking the traffic on her favourite line. For the men of her own class who took part in it, it was a brave adventure. For the common soldier a sad but patriotic necessity. If circumstances had allowed her to go forth into the war world as nurse or canteen helper at a London Terminus or motor-driver in France her horizon would have broadened. But the contact with the realities into which her did-it-anty little war activities brought her was too slight to make the deep impression. In her heart, as far as she revealed herself to Doggy, she resented the war because it interfered with her own definitely marked-out scheme of existence. The war ever, she would regard it politely as a thing that had never been and, with forthwith, set to work upon her aforesaid interrupted plan. And towards a comprehension of this apparent serenity the perplexed mind of Doggy groped with ill success. All his old values had been kicked into higgledy-piggledy confusion. All hers remained steadfast. So Doggy reflected with some grimness that there are rougher roads than those which lead to the trenches. A letter from Phineas did not restore economicity. It ran, My dear laddie, our unsophisticated friend Moe and myself are writing this letter together and he bids me begin it by saying that he hopes it finds you as it leaves after the present in a muck of dust of perspiration. Well, we are now, I must not tell. For, in the opinion of the censor, you would reveal it to the very reverent of the Dean of Durlebury who would naturally telegraph the information to the Kaiser. But the division is far, far from the idyllic land of your dreams, and there is bloody fighting ahead of us. And though the heart of Moe and me go out to you, laddie, and though we miss you sore, yet Moe says he's blistering, glad you're out of it and safe in your perishing bed with a blighty one, and such, in more academic phraseology, are the sentiments of your old friend Phineas. Ah, laddie! It was a bad day when we marched from the old Brits, for the word had gone round that we weren't going back. I had taken the liberty of telling the lessy he can of something about your private position and your worldly affairs, of which it seemed you had left her entirely ignorant. Of course, with my native Scottish Corson, and my knowledge of human nature gained in the academies of prosperity and the ragged schools of adversity, I did not touch on certain matters of a delicate nature. That is no business of mine. If there is discretion in this world in which you can trust blindly, it is that of Phineas McPhail. I just told her of Denby Hall and your fortune, which I fairly accurately computed at a couple of million francs. For I thought he was right, she should know that you weren't just a scallywagged private soldier like the rest of us. And I'm about to say that the lessy was considerably impressed. In further conversation I told her something of your early life. And though not over-desirous of blackening my character in her bonny eyes, I let her know what kind of an injudicious upbringing you were being compelled to undergo. Il a été élevé, said I, don't know what the places was the French for cotton wool. The war has a pernicious effect on one's memory. I sometimes even forget the elementary sensations of inebriarity. Don la huit, she said. And I remember the word. Oui, don la huit, said I. And she looked at me like or rather threw me out of her great dark eyes. In mind the way she treats your substance as a shadow and looks through it at the shadows that to her are substances. And she said below her breath I don't think she meant me to hear it. Et c'est lui qui a fait cela pour moi. Maud, in his materialistic may, is clamorous that I should tell you about the chicken, the which being symbolical, I proceed to do. It was our last day she invited us to lunch in the kitchen and shut the door so that none of the hungry violets of the company should stick in their unmarried noses and wine for scraps. And there, laddie, was an omelette and cutlet and a chicken and a fromage à la crème such as the days of my vanity and never eaten cooked by the old body whose soul you won with a pinch of snuff. The poor lassie could scarce eat but most saw that there was nothing left. The bones on his plate looked as if a dog had been of them for a week. And there was vintage oud-soutern which ran down one's throat like scented gold. Man, said I to Mo, if you lap it up like that you'll be as drunk as Noah. So he cast a frightened glance and sipped like a young lady at a christening party. Then she brings out cherries and plums and peaches and opens a half-bottle of champagne and fills all our glasses and twanette at a glass. And she rises in the pale dignified creek tragedy where she has and she makes a wee bit speech. Monsieur, she said, perhaps you may wonder why I have invited you but I think you understand. It is the only way I had with Doggy's friends the fortune that he has so heroically brought me. It is but a little tribute of my gratitude to Doggy. You are his friends and I wish well that you would be mine. Très franchement, Très loyalement. She put out her hand and me shook it and almost said Miss, I go to hell for you. Whereupon the little red spot you may have seen for yourself came into her pale cheek and looked like a fleeting moonbeam crept into her eyes. Lady, if I am waxing too poetical just consider that Mme Boisange or Bossier is not the ordinary woman the British private soldier isn't the habit of consulting with. Then she took up at last. Je vais porter un toast Vive l'enquêteur and although a Scotsman I drank it as if it applied to me. And then she cried, Vive la France. An old twanette cried, Vive la France. And they looked transfigured and I fairly itched to sing the Marseillaises though I knew I couldn't. Then she chinked glasses with us. Bon chance mes amis. And then Miss, she made a sign to the old wife who added the few remaining drops to our glasses. To Doggy, said Mme Boisange. We drank the toast, lady. Old Mo began in his cracked voice for he is a jolly good fellow. I kicked him and told him to shut up. But Mme Boisange said I've heard of that. It is a ceremony. I like it. Continue. So Mo and I held up our glasses and an indifferent song proclaimed you what the army developing certain rudimentary germs has made you. Mme Boisange, too, held up our glasses and threw back her head and joined us in the hip-hip hurrays. It would have done your heart good, lady, to have been there to see. Miss, we did you proud. When we emerged from the festival the prettiest which in the course of a very gated career I have ever attended Mo says if I hadn't a girl at home if you hadn't got a girl at home, said I, you be the next damnedest fool in the army to finish McPhail. We marched out just before dusk and there she was by the front door and though she stood proud and upright and smart with her lips and kisses with both hands to which the boys all responded with a cheer there were tears streaming down her cheeks and the tears, lady, were not for Mo or me or any one of us ugly beggars that passed her by. I also have good news for you that I hear from the thunderous though excellent sergeant Bellinghol there is a probability that when you rejoin the CO will be afflicted with a grievous lapse of memory and that he will be frustrated that you received your wound during the attack on the wiring party as I said before, lady we're all like the Scotch-Wahar with Wallace Bled and are going to our gory bed or to victory and possibly both but I remain steadfast to my philosophy and if I am condemned to the said Sanquanel and the couch I will do my best to derive from it the utmost enjoyment possible all kinds of poets and such like lusty loons have shed their last drop of ink in the effort to describe the pleasures of life but it will be reserved for the disembodied spirit of Phineas McPhail to write the great philosophic poem of the world's history which will be entitled The Pleasures of Death while you're doing nothing, lady you might bestow yourself and find an enlightened publisher who will be willing to give me an anti-mortem advance in respect of royalties accruing to my ghost a moe to whom I have read the last paragraph says he always knew that education affected the brain with which incontrovertible proposition and our joint love I now conclude this epistle yours Phineas have all the blazing imbeciles don't you quite aloud why the unprintable unprintableness couldn't Phineas mind his own business why had he given his silly accident a way in this childish manner why had he told Jean of his cotton ball upbringing his feet, even that of his wounded leg tingled to kick Phineas of course Jean knowing him now to be such a gilded ass would have nothing more to do with him he'd explained her letter he'd damned Phineas to all eternity in terms compared with which the curse of Saint Urnoffles ununciated by the late Mr. Shandy was a fantastic benediction if I had a dog growth my Uncle Toby I would not curse him so but if Uncle Toby had heard doggie of the 20th century armies who also swore terribly in Flanders for dog he would have substituted rattlesnake or German officer yet such is the quiddity of the English Tommy that through this devastating anathema ran a streak of love which at the end turned the whole thing into forlorn derision and as he could laugh he saw things in a clear light both of his two friends were in their respective ways in love with his wonderful Jean both of them were steel true to him it was just part of their loyalty to ferment this impossible romance between Jean and himself if the three of them were now at Freilu the two idiots would be playing gooseberry with the smirking conscientiousness of a pair of schoolgirls so doggie forgave the indiscretion after all what did it matter it mattered however to this extent that he read the letter over and over again and he knew it by heart and could picture to himself every phase of the banquet and every fleeting look on Jean's face all this he did learn at last is utterly ridiculous and he tore up in his letter and during his convalescence devoted himself to the study of European politics a subject which he had scandalously neglected during his elegantly ledgered youth the day of his discharge came in due course a suit of khaki took the place of the hospital blue he received his papers the seven days sick furlough and his railway warrant shook hands with nurses and comrades and sped to Dernlebury in the third class carriage of the Tommy Peggy in the two-seater was waiting for him in the station yard he exchanged greetings from afar grinned, waved a hand and jumped him beside her how jolly of you to meet me where's your luggage? luggage it seemed to be a new word he'd not heard it for many months he laughed I haven't got any thank God if you knew him what it was to hunch a horrible canvas sausage of kit about you'd appreciate feeling free it's a mercy you've got pedal fixing things up a few of the last two days I wonder if I should be able to live up to pedal said Doggy who's going to start the car? she asked the whole Lord he cried and bolted out and turned the crank I'm awfully sorry he added when the engine running he resumed his place I had forgotten all about these pretty things out there a car as a sacred chariot set apart for gods in brass hats and the older Tommy looks at them for war and reverence can't you forget your old Tommy for a few days? she said as soon as the car had cleared the station gates and was safely under way he noted a touch of irritation all right Peggy dear said he I'll do what I can Oliver's here with his man Chipmunk she remarked her eyes on the road Oliver on leave again how has he managed it you better ask him she replied tartly he turned up yesterday and he's staying with us that's why I don't want you to ram the fact that you're being a Tommy down everybody's throat he laughed at the queer little social problem that seemed to be worrying her I think your fine blood is thicker than military etiquette after all Oliver's my first cousin if he can't get on with me he can get out to change the conversation he added after a pause the little car's running splendidly they swept through the familiar old world streets which now that the early frenzy of mobilising territorial and training of new armies was over had resumed more or less their pre-war appearance the sleepy meadows by the river once ground into black slush by guns and ammunition wagons and horses were now green again and idle and the troops once billeted on the citizens have marched heaven knows wither many to heaven itself or whatever paradise is reserved for the great hearted English fighting man who has given his life for England only here and there a stray soldier on leave or one of the confinescence from the cottage hospital struck an incongruous note of war they drew up the door of the denary under the shadow of the great cathedral thank god that is out of the reach of the bot said doggy with a new sense of its beauty and spiritual significance to think of it like reams or aris I've seen aris seen a shell burst among the still standing ruins oh piggy he gripped her arm you dear people haven't the remotest conception of what it all is what France has suffered imagine this mass of wonder all one horrible stone pie without a trace of what it once had been I suppose we're jolly lucky she replied the door was opened by the old butler who had been on the alert for the arrival he run in said piggy I'll take the car round to the yard so doggy with a smile and a word of greeting entered the denary his uncle appeared in the hall florid white haired benevolent and extended both hands to the homecoming warrior my dear boy how glad I am to see you welcome back you're wounded we thought night and day of you if I could have spared the time I should have run up north but I've not a minute to call my own we're doing our share of war work here my boy come into the drawing room he put his hand affectionately on doggy's arm and opening the drawing room door pushed him in and stood in his kind courtly way until the young man had passed for the threshold Mrs. Conover, feeble from illness rose and kissed him and gave him much of the same greeting as her husband then at all a lean figure in uniform who'd remained in the background by the fireplace advanced with outstretched hand hello old chap doggy took the hand in an honest grip hello Oliver how goes it spend it said doggy, you all right top hole said Oliver he clapped his cousin on the shoulder my hat you do look fit he turned to the dean Uncle Edward isn't he a hundred times the man he was I told you my boy you would see a difference said the dean Peggy ran in having delivered the two-seater to the care of the Mermitons now that the affecting meeting is over let us have tea Oliver ring the bell the tea came it appeared to doggy handing round to the three-tiered silver cake stand that he'd returned to some forgotten former incarnation the delicate china cup in his hand seemed too frail for the material usages of life and he feared that he should break it with rough handling old habit however prevailed and no one noticed his sense of awkwardness the talk laid chiefly between Oliver and himself they exchanged experiences as to dates and localities they banded about the names of places which will be inscribed in letters of blood for all time as though they were popular golf courses both had known Eep and Plug Street and the famous wall at Arras where the British and German trenches were but five yards apart Oliver's division had gone down to the Somme in July for the great push I ought to be there now said Oliver I feel a hulking slacker and fraugh being home on sick leave but the Omo said I had just escaped shell-shocked packed me home for a fortnight to rest up while the regiment went into reserve did you get badly cut up? asked Doggie rather we broke through all right the machine guns which we had overlooked got us in the back might not stand there now said Doggie well out of it old chap laughed Oliver for the first time in his life Doggie began really to like Oliver the old times swashbuckling swagger had gone the swagger of one who would say I am the only live man in this comatose crowd I am the daredevil baccaneer who defies the thunder and sleeps on boards while the rest of you are lying soft in feather beds his direct cavalier way he still retained but the army with the omnipotent might of its inherited traditions have moulded him to its pattern even as it have moulded Doggie and Doggie who learned many of the lessons in human psychology which the army teaches knew that Oliver's genial, familiar talk was not all due to his appreciation of their social equality in the bosom of their own family but that he would have treated much the same any Tommy into whose companionship he'd been casually thrown the Tommy would have said Sir, very scrupulously which on Doggie's part would have been an idiotic thing to do to have got on famously together bound by the freemasonry of fighting men who cursed the same foe for the same reasons so Oliver stood out before Doggie's eyes in a new light that of the typical officer trusted and beloved by his men and his heart went out to him I've bought chipmunk over said Oliver, you remember the freak the poor devil hasn't had a day's leave for a couple of years, didn't want it why should he go waste money in a country where he doesn't know a human being this time I've fixed it up for him and his leave is determinous with mine he's been my servant all through if they took him away from me he'd be quite capable of strangling the CO he's a funny beggar and what kind of a soldier the dean asked politely there's not a finer one in all the armies of the earth said Oliver after much further talk he boomed softly through the house you've got the green room, Marmaduke said Peggy, the one with the chipmendale stuff you used to covet so much I haven't got much to change into laughed Doggie you'll find Peddle up there waiting for you she replied and when Doggie entered the green room there he found Peddle who welcomed him with tears of joy and a display of all the finicky luxuries of the toilet and the dormant which he'd left behind at Denby Hall there were pots of pomade and face cream and nail polish bottles of hair wash and tooth wash little boxes and brushes for the moustache half a dozen gleaming razors an array of brushes and combs and manicure set in tortoise shell with his crest in silver bottles of scent with spray attachments the onyx bowl of bath salts beside the hippo bath ready to be filled from the ewers of hot and cold water in the house had but one family bathroom the deep purple silk dressing gown over the footrail of the bed the silk pyjamas and a lighter shade spread out over the pillow the silk underwear and soft frontage shirt fitted with his ruby and diamond sleeve links hung up before the fire to air the dinner jacket suit laid out on the glass topped chipmendale table with black tie and delicate handkerchief the silk socks covered with glossy pumps with the silver shoehorn laid across them my god pedal cried doggy scratching his clasely cropped head what the devils all this pedal, grey, bent, uncomprehending regarded him blankly or what sir I only want to wash my hands said doggy but aren't you going to dress for dinner sir a private soda is not allowed to wear a mufty at pedal they dot me of a week's pay if they find out is to find out sir that's Mr. Oliver, he's a major Lord, Mr. Marbury, I don't think he'd mind Miss Peggy gave me my order sir and I think you could leave things to her all right pedal he laughed if it's Miss Peggy's decree I'll change I've got all I want are you sure you can manage sir pedal asked anxiously for time was when doggy couldn't stick his legs into his trousers and as pedal held them out for him quite said doggy it seems rather roughing it here Mr. Marbury you go for what you've been accustomed to at the hall that's so said doggy and it's martyrdom compared with what it is in the trenches there we always have a major general to lace up our boots and a field marshal's always hovering round to light our cigarettes pedal who'd never known him to jest or his father for him went out in a muddled frame of mind leaving doggy to struggle into his dress trousers as best he might End of Chapter 19 Chapter 20 of The Rough Road by William John Locke this LibriVox recording is in the public domain recording by Simon Evers Chapter 20 when doggy in dinner-suit went downstairs he found Peggy alone in the drawing-room she gave him the kiss of one accustomed to kiss him from childhood and sat down again on the fender-stool now you look more like a Christian gentleman she laughed confess it's much more comfortable than your wretched privates uniform I'm not quite so sure he said somewhat roofily indicating his dinner-jacket tightly constricted beneath the arms already I've had to slit my waistcoat down the back poor old pedal will have an apopletic fit I've grown a bit since these elegant rags were made for me he'll foe souffleer pour etra beau said Peggy if my being beau pleases you Peggy I'll suffer gladly I've been in tighter places he threw himself down in the corner of the sofa and joggled up and down like a child after all he said it's jolly to sit on something squashy again and to see a pretty girl in a pretty frock I'm glad you like this frock new? she nodded dad said it was too much of a vanity fair of a vanity for wartime you don't think so do you? it's charming said doggie a treat for tired eyes that's just what I told dad what's the good of women dressing in slacks tied round the middle with a bit of string when men come home from the front they wanted to see their women flow looking pretty and dainty that's what they've come over for it's part of the cure the first time you've been a real dear Marmaduke a treat for tired eyes I'll rub it into dad hard Oliver came in in khaki doggie jumped up and pointed it to him look here Peggy it's the guard room for me Oliver laughed where the dinner-cook I bought when I came home is now God any it can tell he turned to Peggy I did change you know that's the pull of being a beastly major heaps of suits on the march there are motor lorries full of them it's the scandal of the army the wretched Tommy has put one suit to his name that's why sir I've taken the liberty of appearing before you in outgrown mufti all right my man said Oliver we'll hush it up and say no more about it then the dean and Mrs. Conover entered and soon they went in to dinner it was for doggie the most pleasant of meals he had the superbly healthy man's full hearted or whole stomached appreciation of unaccustomed good food and drink so much so that when the dean after agonies of fortification said gently to his wife my dear don't you think you might speak a word in season to peck peck being the butcher and forbid him under the defense of the realm act if you like to deliver it to us in the evening as lamb that which was served in the morning a lusty sheep he stared at the good old man as though he were vitelius in person tough was like milk-fatted baby he was already devouring like Oliver his second helping then the dean pledging him and Oliver in champagne apologised I'm sorry my dear boys the 1904 has run out and there's no more to be got but the 1906 though not having the quality is quite drinkable drinkable was laughing dancing joy his throat so much for gross delights there were others finer the charm to the eye of the table with its exquisite napery and china and glass and silver and flowers the almost intoxicating atmosphere of peace and gentle living the full loving welcome shining from the eyes of the kind old dean his uncle by marriage and of the faded, delicate lady his own flesh and blood his mother's sister and Peggy, pretty flushed, bright-eyed radiant in her new dress and there was Oliver most of all he appreciated Oliver's comrade-like attitude it was a recognition of him as a man and a soldier in the course of dinner-talk Oliver said James and T. and I have looked death in the face many a time really he's a poor raw-head and bloody-bone sort of Peggy don't you think so old chap it all depends on whether you've got a funk-hole handy, he replied but that was near lightness of speech Oliver's inclusion of him in his remark shook him to the depths of his sensitive nature the man who despises the petty feelings and frailties of mankind is doomed to remain an awful ignorance of that which there is of beauty and pathos in the lives of his fellow-creatures after all what did it matter what Oliver thought of him who was Oliver his cousin, accident of birth the black sheep of the family now a major in a different regiment and a different division what was Oliver to him or he to Oliver he had made good in the eyes of one whose judgment had been forged keen and absolute by heroic sorrows what did anyone else matter but to doggie the supreme joy of the evening was the knowledge that he made good in the eyes of Oliver Oliver warned his tunic the white move and white ribbon of the military cross honour where honour was due but he, doggie had been wounded, no matter how and Oliver frankly put them both on the same plane of achievement thus wiping away with generous hand all hated memories of the past when the ladies had left the room history repeated itself in that the deem was called away on business and the citizens were left alone together over their wine said doggie do you remember the last time we sat at this table perfectly replied Oliver, holding up a glass of the old dean report to the light you were horrified at my attempting to clean out my pipe with a dessert knife doggie laughed after all it was a filthy thing to do I quite agree with you since then I've learned manners he also maybe squirm at the idea of scooping out bots inside with bayonets and you've learned not to squirm so where quits you thought me a rotten ass in those days didn't you Oliver looked at him squarely I don't think it would hurt you now if I said that I did he laughed stretched himself on his chair thrusting both hands into his trouser pockets in many ways it's a jolly good old war you know those that pull through it has taught us both a lot Marmaduke doggie wringled his forehead in his half humorous way I wish it would teach people not to call me by that silly name I have always abominated it as you may have observed said Oliver bit on our present polite relations old chap what else is there you ought to know Oliver stared at him you don't mean yes I do I've laid it and I went on calling you doggie because I knew you laid it I never dreamed of using it now I can't help it replied doggie the name got into the army and has stuck to me right through and now those that I love and trust most in the world and who love and trust me call me doggie and I don't seem to be able to answer to any other name so although I'm only a Tommy and you're a devil of a swell of a second in command yet if you want to be friendly well Oliver leaned forward quickly of course I want to be friends doggie old chap as for major and private when you pass me in the streets you're damn well got to salute me and that's all there is to it but otherwise it's all rot and now we've got to the heart to heart stage don't you think you're a bit of a fool I know it said doggie chiefly the army has drummed that into me at any rate I mean in staying in the ranks why don't you apply for the cadet corps and so get through to a commission again doggie's brow grew dark I had all that out with Peggy long ago when things were perhaps somewhat different with me I was sore all over I dare say you can understand but now there are other reasons much stronger reasons the only real happiness I've had in my life has been as a Tommy I'm not talking through my hat the only real friends I've ever made in my life are Tommy's I found real things as a Tommy and I'm not going to start all over again to find them in another capacity you wouldn't have to start all over again I'll never objected oh yes I should don't run away with the idea that I've been turned by a miracle into a brawny hero I'm not anything of the sort to have to lead men into action would be a holy terror the old dread of seeking new paths still acts, you see I'm the same doggie that wouldn't go out to who came with you and now I'm a private and I'm used to it I love it and I'm not going to change to the end of the whole gory business of course Piggy doesn't like it he added after a sip of wine but I can't help that it's a matter of temperament and conscience in a way a matter of honour what has honour got to do with it? asked Oliver I'll try to explain it's somehow this way when I came to my senses after being chucked for incompetence that was the worst hell ever went through in my life and I enlisted I swore that I would stick it as a tommy without anybody's sympathy at least of all that of the folks here and then I swore I'd make good to myself as a tommy I was just beginning to feel happier when that infernal boss, Sniper, knocked me out for a time so Peggy you know Peggy I'm going through with it I'm telling you all this because I should like you to know he passed his hand in the familiar gesture from back to front of his short-cropped hair Oliver smiled at the reminiscence of the old disturbed Doggy but he said very gravely I'm glad you've told me old man I appreciate it very much I've been through the ranks myself and know what it is the bad and the good many a man has found his soul that way good God! Doggy started to his feet do you say that too? who else said it? the quick question caused the blood to rush to Doggy's face Oliver's keen half-mocking gaze held him he cursed himself for an impulsive idiot the true answer to the question would be a confession of Jean the scene of the kitchen of Frodo swam before his eyes he dropped her into his chair again with a laugh Oh! someone out there in another heart-to-heart talk as a matter of fact I think I said it myself it's odd that you should have used the same words anyhow you're the only other person who has hit on the truth as far as I'm concerned finding one's soul is a bit highfalutin but that's about the size of it Peggy hasn't hit on the truth then Oliver asked with curious earnestness the shade of mockery gone the war has scarcely touched her yet you see, said Doggy he rose shrinking from discussion shall we go in? in the drawing-room they played bridge till the ladies' bedtime the dean coming in played the last rubber I hope you'll be able to sleep in a common or garden-bed bar-maduke, said Peggy and kissed him up a funtory good night I have heard, remarked the dean that it takes quite a time to grow accustomed to the little amenities of civilisation that's quite true, Uncle Edward laughed, Doggy I'm terrified of the thought of the silk-pajamas pedal as prescribed for me why? Peggy asked bluntly Oliver interposed, laughing his hand on Doggy's shoulder Tommy's accustomed to go to bed in his day-shirt how perfectly disgusting! cried Peggy and sweat from the room Oliver dropped his hand and looked somewhat abashed I'm afraid I've been and gone and done it I'm sorry, I'm still a barbarian South Sea islander I wish I were a young man, said the dean, moving from the door and inviting them to sit and could take part in these strange hardships this question of night-atar for instance has never struck me before though things of amazing interest ah, what it is to be old if I'm a young if I'm a young, I should be with you cloth or no cloth in the trenches I hope both of you know that I vehemently dissent from those bishops who prohibit the younger clergy from taking their place in the biting line if gods are archangels and angels themselves took up the sword against the powers of darkness surely a stalwart young curate of the Church of England would find his vocation in warring with rifle and bayonet against the proclaimed enemies of God in mankind? the influence of the twenty thousand or so of priests fighting in the French army is said to be enormous Oliver remarked the dean sighed I'm afraid we're losing a big chance why don't you take up the fiery claws Uncle Edward and run a new crusade? the dean sighed five and thirty years ago when he'd settled dirtily by the ears he might have preached glorious heresy and heroic schism but now the immutability of the great grey fabric had become part of his being I've done my best my boy he replied with the result that I'm held in high disfavour but that doesn't matter a little bit not a little bit said the dean a man can only do his duty according to the dictates of his conscience I have publicly deplored the attitudes of the Church of England I've written to the Times I've written to Pamphlet I sent you each a copy which has brought a haulage nest about my ears I've worn those in high places that what they are doing is not in the best interest of the Church but they won't listen Oliver lit a pipe I'm afraid Uncle Edward he said that though I come of a clerical family I know no more of religion than a hun bishop but it has always struck me that the Church's job is to look after the people whereas as far as I can make out the Church is now squealing because the people won't look after the Church the dean rose I won't go as far as that said he with a smile but there is I fear some justification for such a criticism from the laity as soon as the war began the Church should have gathered the people together and said onward Christian soldiers go and fight like hell suggested Oliver greatly daring or the words to that effect smiled the old dean he looked at his watch dear, dear, past eleven I wish I could sit up talking to you boys but I start my day's work at eight o'clock if you want anything you've only got us to ring good night it is one of the proudest days of my life to have you both here together his courtly charm seemed to linger in the room after he had left he's a dear old chap, said Oliver one of the best, said Doggy rather pathetic in his heart he would like to play the devil with the bishops and kick every able-bodied parson into the trenches and there are thousands of them that don't need any kicking and on the contrary being kicked back but he has become half petrified in the apness here of this place it's lovely to come to us as a sort of funk-hole of peace for my holy art what the place is you laughing at? I'm only thinking of a beast of a boy here who used to say that replied Doggy oh, did Oliver and he grinned anyway, I was only going to remark that if I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life here I'd paint the town of a million for a week and then cut my throat I quite agree with you, said Doggy what are you going to do when the war's over? who knows what he's going to do what are you going to do? fly back to your little Robinson Crusoe Dirtlebury of a Pacific Island I don't think so Oliver stuck his pipe on the mantelpiece and his hands on his hips and made a stride towards Doggy damn you, Doggy, damn you to little bits how the Hades did you guess what I've sketched to tell myself much less than other human beings you yourself said it was a good old war and it has taught us a lot of things it has, said Oliver but I never expected to hear who came called Dirtlebury by you, Doggy oh, Lord, I must have another drink where's your glass? say when they parted for the night the best of friends Doggy, in spite of the silk pyjamas and the soft bed and the blazing fire in his room he stripped back the light-excluding curtains forgetful of defence of the realm acts and opened all the windows wide to the horror of Peddle in the morning he slept like an unperturbed dormouse when Peddle woke him he laid down on the bed when Peddle woke him he laid drizzly while the old butler filled his bath and fiddled about with drawers at last, arised he cried out, what the tickens are you doing? Peddle turned with an engineer I met you, your ties and socks for your bottle-green suits, sir Doggy leaped out of bed you dear old idiot, I can't go about the streets in bottle-green suits I've got to wear my uniform he looked round the room Peddle's injured air deepened almost into resentment where the devil never had Mr. Marmaduke or his father the cannon use such language he drew himself up I have given orders, sir for the uniform suit you wore yesterday to be sent to the cleaners how hell, said Doggy and Peddle, unaccustomed to the vernacular of the British army paled with horror how hell, said Doggy, look here, Peddle just you get on a bicycle or motor-car or an express train at once and retrieve that uniform don't you understand I'm a private soldier I've got to wear a uniform all the time and I have to stay in this beastly bed until you get him for me Peddle fled the picture that he left on Doggy's mind was that of the faithful steward with dismayed uplifted hands retiring from the room in one of the great scenes of Hogarth's rake's progress the similitude made him laugh but Doggy always had a saving sense of humour but he was very angry with Peddle when he stamped around the room in his silk pyjamas what the juice was he going to do even if he committed the military crime and there was a far more serious crime already against him of appearing in public in Mufti did that old ass think he was going to swagger about dirty brim bottle-green suits as though he were ashamed of the king's uniform he dipped his shaving brush into the hot water then he threw it anyhow across the room instead of shaving he would be gloating over the idea of cutting that old full Peddle's throat and therefore would slash his own face to bits things, however, were not done at a lightning speed in the deniery of Durlebury the first steps had not even been taken to send the uniform to the cleaners and soon Peddle reappeared carrying it over his arm and the heavier pair of munition boots in his hand these two, sir," he asked exhibiting the latter residedly and casting a sad glance at the neat pair of brown shoes exquisitely polished and beautifully treed which he put out for his master's wear these two, said Doggy and where's my grey flannel shirt? this time Peddle triumphed I've given that away, sir, to the gardener's boy but he could just go and buy me half a dozen more like it, said Doggy he dismissed the old man dressed and went downstairs the dean had breakfast at seven Peggy and Oliver were not to get down for the nine o'clock meal Doggy strolled about the garden and sorted round to the stable-yard there he encountered a chipmunk in his shirt-sleeves sitting on a packing-case and polishing Oliver's leggings he raised an ugly clean-shaven mug and sculled beneath his arms and said, what's the matter, sir? the chipmunk resumed his work Doggy turned over a stable bucket and sat down on it and did a cigarette glad to be back chipmunk poised the cloth on which he poured some brown dressing not if I had to be worried with private soldiers, he replied I came here to get away from them what's wrong with private soldiers? he said, what's wrong with private soldiers? he said, what's wrong with private soldiers? what's wrong with private soldiers? they're good enough for you, aren't they? asked Doggy with a laugh meow, old chipmunk especially when they ought to be officers go to hell Doggy, who had suffered much in the army but had never before been tainted with being a de-detanted gentleman private still less being consigned to hell on that account leapt to his feet shaken by one of his rare, sudden gusts of anger if you don't say I'm as good a private soldier as any in your rotten, mangy regiment I'll knock your blicking head off an insult to a soldier's regiment can only be wiped out in blood chipmunk threw cloth and legging to the winds and springing from his seat like a monkey went for Doggy you just try Doggy tried and had not chipmunk's head been very firmly secured to his shoulders he would have succeeded chipmunk went down as if he'd been bombed it was his unguarded and unscientific rush that did it Doggy regarded his prostrate figure in gratified surprise what's all this about? quite a sharp, imperious voice Doggy instinctively stood at attention and saluted and chipmunk, picking himself up in a dazed sort of way did likewise you two men shake hands and make friends at once Oliver commanded yes, sir, said Doggy he extended his hand and chipmunk with the nautical shamble which in members of distress defied a couple of years' military discipline advanced and shook it Oliver strode hurriedly away I'm sorry I said that about the regiment mate I didn't mean it, said Doggy chipmunk looked uncertainly into Doggy's eyes for what Doggy felt to be a very long time chipmunk's dull brain was slowly realising the situation the man opposite to him was his master's cousin when he had last seen him he had no title to be called a man at all his vocabulary volcanically rich but otherwise limited had not been able to express him in adequate terms of contempt and derision now behold him masquerading as a private wounded but any fool could get wounded behold him further coming down from the social heights whereon his master dwelt to take a rise out of him, chipmunk in self-defense he'd taken the obvious course he had told him to go to hell then the important things had happened not the effeminate gentleman but someone very much like the common Tommy of his acquaintance had responded and he'd further responded with the familiar vigor but unwonted science of the rank and file he'd also stood at attention and saluted and obeyed like any other common Tommy when the major appeared the last fact appealed to him perhaps as much as the one more invested in violence he said he had last joking his head and rubbing his jaw what the hell did you do in we'll get some gloves and I'll show you said Doggie so peace and firm friendship were made Doggie went into the house and in the dining room found Oliver my only aunt you'll be the death of me Doggie yes sir, he mimicked him the perfect Tommy after doing an old chipmunk chipmunk with the strength of a gorilla of the courage of a lion I just happened round to see him go down how the blazes did you manage it Doggie that's what chipmunks just asked me Doggie replied I belong to a regiment where boxing is taught really a good regiment he grinned he was the instructor of a chap called Ballinghall not Joe Ballinghall the well-known amateur heavyweight that's him right enough said Doggie my dear hook chap said Oliver this is the funniest war that ever was Peggy sailed in full of apologies and began to pour out coffee to help yourselves I'm so sorry to have kept you poor hungry things waiting we filled up the time amazingly quite Oliver what do you think Doggie's had a fight with Chipmunk and knocked him out Peggy splashed the milk over the brim of Doggie's cup and entered the saucer there came a sudden flash on her cheek and a sudden hard look into her eyes fighting do you mean to say you've been fighting with a common man like Chipmunk ah we're the best of friends now said Doggie we understand each other I can't quite see the necessity said Peggy I'm afraid it's rather hard to explain he replied with a rueful knitting of the brows for he realized her disgust at the vulgar brawl I think the less said the better she remarked acidly the meal proceeded in ominous gloom and as soon as Peggy had finished she left the room seems old chap that I can never do right said Oliver long ago when I used to crab you gave it to me in the neck ah when I tried to boost you you seemed to get it I'm afraid I've gone on Peggy's nerves said Doggie you see he've only met once before during the last two years I suppose I've changed they're right about that old son said Oliver but all the same Peggy has stood by you like a brick hasn't she that's the devil of it replied Doggie rubbing his hair Oliver asked quickly oh I don't know replied Doggie as you've once or twice observed it's a funny old war he rose went to the door where are you off to asked Oliver I'm going to Denby Hall to take a look round like me to come with you we can borrow the two-seater Doggie advanced to pace you're an awfully good sort Oliver he said touch but would you mind I feel rather a beast all right you silly old ass replied Oliver cheerily you want of course a route about there by yourself go ahead if you'll take a spin with me this afternoon or tomorrow said Doggie in his sensitive way I'll clear out laughed Oliver and Doggie cleared End of Chapter 20 Chapter 21 of The Rough Road by William John Locke this LibriVox recording is in the public domain recording by Simon Evers Chapter 21 all right pedal I can find my way about said Doggie dismissing the old butler and his wife after a little colloquy in the hall everything's in perfect order sir just as it was when you left and there are the keys said Mrs. Peddle the pedals retired Doggie eyed the heavy bunch of keys with an air of distaste for two years he had not seen a key the truth could be the good of all this locking and unlocking he stuffed the bunch in his tuning pocket and looked around him it seemed difficult to realise that everything he saw was his own those trees fuzzled from the hall windows were his own and the land on which they grew this spacious beautiful house was his own he had only to wave a hand as it were and it would be filled with serving men and serving maids ready to do his bidding his foot was on his native heath and the name was James Marmugut Trevor did he ever actually live here have his being here was he ever part and parcel of it all the oriental rugs the soft stair carpet on the noble oak staircase leading to the gallery the oil paintings the impressive statuary the solid historical oak hall furniture were it not so acutely remembered he would have felt like a man accustomed all his life to barns and tents and hedgerows and fetid holes on the ground who had wandered into some ill-guarded palace he entered to the drawing room the faithful petals with pathetic zeal to give him a true homecoming had set it out fresh and clean and polished the windows were like a crystal and flowers welcomed him from every available vase and so in the dining room the chip and ale dining table gleamed like a somber translucent pool on the sideboard amid the array of shining silver the very best old Waterford decanters filled with whisky and brandy and old cut-glass goblets invited him to refreshment the precious mezzatine portraits mostly of his own collecting regarded him abinely from the walls the times and the morning-post were laid out on the little table by his accustomed chair near the massive marble mantelpiece the dear old idiot said doggy and he sat down for a moment and unfolded the newspapers and strewn them round to give the impression that he had read and enjoyed them and then he went into his own private a particular den, the Peacock and Ivory Room which had been the supreme expression of himself of which he had ached during many nights of misery he looked round and his heart sank he seemed to come face to face with the ineffectual effeminate creature who brought upon him the disgrace but for the creator and Siborite and joyer of this sickening boudoir he would now be an honoured command of men he conceived a silent, violent hatred of the room the only thing in the place worth a man's consideration save a few watercolours was the honest grand piano which, because it did not aesthetically harmonise with his squeaky, pot-bellied fear-boss and tinkling spinette he'd hidden in an alcove behind a curtain he turned an eye of disgust on the vellum-backs of his books in the closed Chippendale cases on the drawers containing his collection of wall-papers on the footling Peapcocks on the curtains and cushions on the veined Ivory Wallpaper which, beginning to fade two years ago now looked mean and meaningless it was an abominable room it ought to be smelly of musk or pastils or jostics he might have done so for once he had tried something of the sort in the experiment only because the smell happened to make him sick there was one feature of the room at which for a long time he avoided looking but wherever he turned it impressed itself on his consciousness as the miserable genius of the despicable place and that was his collection of little china dogs at last he planted himself in front of the great glass cabinet when thousands of little dogs looked at him out of little black dots of eyes there were dogs of all nationalities all breeds, all twisted and enormities of human invention there were monstrous dogs of china and japan, Aztec dogs dogs in Sevre and Dresden and Chelsea six mini-dogs from Austria and Switzerland everything in the way of a little dog that man had made he stood in front of it with almost a doggish snarl on his lips he spent hundreds and hundreds of pounds over these futile dogs yet never a flesh and blood real, lusty, canny's futilies had he possessed he used to dislike real dogs the shivering rat Goliath could scarcely be called a dog he wasted his heart over these contemptible counterfeits to add to his collection catalogue it, describe it correspond about it with the semi-imposial Russian prince, his only rival collector and once ranked with his history of war-papers as the serious and absorbing pursuit of his life then, suddenly doggy's hatred reached the crisis of ferocity he saw red he sees the first instrument of a description that came to his hand a little gilt louis XV music stool and bashed the cabinet foot in front the glass flew into a thousand spinters he bashed again the woodwork of the cabinet stoutly resisting worked hideous damage on the gilt stool but doggy went on bashing till the cabinet sank in ruins and the little dogs, headless, tailless rent in twain, strewed the floor then doggy's stampedled them with his heavy munition boots until dogs and glass were reduced to powder and the orbezamp carpet was cut to pieces damn the whole infernal place, cried doggy and he heaved a mandolin tied up with disgusting peacock-blue ribbons at the bookcase and fled from the room he stood for a while in the hall shaken with his anger then mounted the staircase and went to his own bedroom with the satinwood furniture and natty blue hangings God! what a bed-chamber for a man! he would have liked to throw bombs into the nest of effeminacy but his mother had arranged it so in a way it was immune from his iconoclastic rage he went down to the dining-room held himself to a whiskey and soda from the sideboard and sat down in the armchair amidst the scattered newspapers and held his head in his hands and fought the house was hateful all its associations were hateful if he lived there until he was ninety the abhorred ghost of the pre-war little doggy Trevor would always haunt every nook and cranny of the place mouthing the quarter of a century's shame that accommodated in the great disgrace at last he brought his hand down with a bang on the arm of his chair he would never live in this house of dishonour again never he would sell it by God! he cried starting to his feet as the inspiration came he would sell it as it stood lock, stock and barrel with everything in it he would wipe out at one stroke the whole of his unedifying history Demby Hall gone what could tie him to Dirtlebury he would be freed forever from the petrification of the grey cramping little city if Peggy didn't like it that was Peggy's affair in material things he was master of his destiny Peggy would have to follow him in his career whatever it was, not he, Peggy he saw clearly that which had been mapped out for him the city little social ambitions the useless existence little doggy Trevor for ever trading obediently behind the lady of Demby Hall doggy threw himself back in his chair and laughed no one had ever heard him laugh like that after a while he was even surprised at himself he was perfectly ready to marry Peggy he was almost a preordained thing a rupture of the engagement was unthinkable her undeviating loyalty bound him by every fibre of gratitude and honour but it was his central that Peggy should know whom and what she was marrying the doggy, trailing in her wake no longer existed if she were prepared to follow the new doggy well and good if not, there would be conflict for that he was prepared he strode this time contemptuously into his wrecked peacock and ivory room where his telephone blatant and hideous thing was ingeniously concealed behind a screen and rang Spooner and Smithson the leading firm of auctioneers and estate agents of the town at the mention of his name Mr Spooner, the senior partner came to the telephone yes, I'm back Mr Spooner and I'm quite well said doggy I want to see you on very important business when can you fix it up? any time can you come along now to Denby Hall Mr Spooner would be pleased to wait upon Mr Traver immediately he would start at once doggy went out and sat on the front doorstep and smoked cigarettes till he came Mr Spooner said he, as soon as the elderly auctioneer descended from his little car I'm going to sell the whole of the Denby Hall estate and with the exception of a few odds and ends family relics and so forth which I'll pick out all the contents of the house furniture, pictures, sheets, towels and kitchen clutter I've only got six days leave and I want all the worries as far as I'm concerned settled and done with before I go so you'll have to bug up Mr Spooner if you see you can't do it I'll put my phone into the hands of a London agent it took Mr Spooner nearly a quarter of an hour to recover his breath gain a grasp of the situation and assemble his business wits of course I'll carry out your instructions Mr Traver he said at last you can safely leave the matter in our hands but although it is against my business interests pray let me beg you to reconsider your decision it is such a beautiful home your grandfather the bishops before you he brought it pretty cheap indeed somewhere in the 70s I forget the price he paid for it but I could look it up of course we were the agents and then it was led to some dismal people until my father died and my mother took it over I'm sorry I can't get sentimental about it as if it were an ancestral hall Mr Spooner I wanted to get rid of the place because I hate the sight of it it would be presumptuous for me to say anything more answered at the old fashioned country auctioneer say what you like Mr Spooner laughed doggy in his disarming way we're old friends but send in your people this afternoon to start on inventories and measuring up or whatever they do and I'll look round tomorrow and select the bits I may want to keep you'll see after the story of them won't you of course Mr Traver Mr Spooner drove away in his little car a much dazed man like the rest of Dirtlebury in the circumtration county he had assumed that when the war was over Mr James Marmaduke Traver would lead his bride from the denary into Denby Hall whether at her, in her own words would proceed to make things hum my dear said he to his wife at luncheon you could have knocked me over with a feather what's he doing for goodness' nose I can only assume that he's grown so accustomed to the destruction of property in France that he's got bitten by the fever perhaps Piggy Conover has turned him down to diss his wife who much younger than he employed more modern turns of speech and I shouldn't wonder if she has since the war girls aren't on the lookout for pretty monkeys if Miss Conover thinks she's got heard of a pretty monkey and that young man she's very much mistaken replied Mr Spooner meanwhile Doggie summoned Peddle to the hall he knew that his announcement would be a blow to the old man but this was a world of blows and after all one could not organise one's life to suit the sentiments of old family idiots of retainers served they never so faithfully Peddle said he I'm sorry to say I get to sell Denby Hall Mrs Spooner and Smithson's people are coming in this afternoon so give them every facility also tea or beer or whiskey or whatever they want about what's going to happen to you and Mrs Peddle don't worry a bit about that you've been jolly good friends of mine all my life and I'll see that everything's as right as rain he turned before the amazed old butler could reply and marched away Peddle gaped at his retreating figure if those were the ways which Mr Marmaduke had learned in the army the lower sank the army in Peddle's estimation to sell Denby Hall over his head why a place and all about it was his so deeply our squatters rights implanted in the human instinct doggy marched along the familiar high road strangely exhilarated what was to be his future he neither knew nor cared at any rate it would not lie in Dirtlebury he had cut out Dirtlebury forever from his scheme of existence if he got through the war he and Peggy would go out somewhere into the great world where there was man's work to do in Parliament Peggy suggested it as a sort of country gentleman's hobby that would keep him amused during the London seasons so my prospective brides have talked to prospective husbands 50 years ago Parliament God help him and God help Peggy if ever he got into Parliament he would speak the most unpopular truths about the race of politicians if ever he got into Parliament Peggy would wish that neither of them would ever be born out of politicians no fear no muddy politics as an elegant amusement for him he laughed as he had laughed in the dining-room at Denby Hall he would have a bad court of an hour with Peggy naturally she would say with every right what about me am I not to be considered yes of course she would be considered the position his fortune assured him would always be hers he had no notion of asking her to share the wealth of Canada or to bury herself in Oliver's Dud Island of Huyheen the great world would be before them but give me some sort of an idea of what she proposed to do she would with perfect propriety demand and there doggy was stuck he had not the ghost of a programme all he had was faith in the war faith in the British spirit and genus that would bring it to a perfect end in which there would be unimagined opportunities for a man to fling himself into a new life and new conditions and begin the new work of a new civilisation if she would only understand city that I can't go back to those blasted little dogs all would be well not quite all although his future was as nebulous as the planetary system in the Milky Way the back of his mind was a vague conviction that it would be connected somehow with the welfare of those men whom he had learnt to know and love the men to whom reading was little pleasure writing a schoolchild's laborious task the glories of the earth has interpreted through art a sealed book the men whose daily speech was foul metaphor the men hemi demi-semi-educated whose crude socialistic opinions the open lessons of history and the eternal facts of human nature derisively refuted the men who had sweated and slaved in factory and in field and in the biological laws of the perpetuation of the species yet the men with the sweet minds of children the gushing tenderness of women the hearts of lions the men compared to whom the rotten squealing hearers of Homer were a horde of cowardly savages they were men these comrades of his swift with all that there can be of divine glory in men and when they came home out of peace there would be men to work in England for all the doggies in England to do again if Peggy could understand this all would be well if she missed the point altogether and tortuedly advised him to go and join his friends the socialists at once then he shoved his cap to the back of his head and wrinkled his forehead then everything will be in the soup said he the nearest way of entrance was the stable yard gate which was always open he strode in, waved a hand to chipmunk who was sitting on the ground with his back against the garage smoking a pipe and entered the house by the French window of the dining-room where should he find Peggy? his whole mind was set on the immediate interview obviously the drawing-room was the first place of search he opened the drawing-room door the hinges and lock oily, noiseless, perfectly ordained like everything in the perfectly ordained English scenery and strode in his entrance was so swift so protective from sound that the pair had no time to start apart before he was there with his amazed eyes full upon them Peggy's hands were on Oliver's shoulders tears were streaming down her face as her head was thrown back from him and Oliver's arm was around her her back was to the door Oliver withdrew his arm and retired a pace or two Lord Almighty, he was put here's Doggy then Peggy, realizing what had happened wheeled round and stared tragically at Doggy who, preoccupied with the search for her had not removed his cap he drew himself up I beg your pardon he said, with imperturbable irony and turned Oliver rushed across the room Stop, you silly fool! you've got to go to the room Stop, you silly fool! he slammed the open door caught Doggy by the arm and dragged him away from the threshold his blue eyes blazed and the lips beneath the short crop mustache quivered It's all my fault, Doggy I'm a beast and a cad and anything you like to call me but for things you said last night well, now, hang it all there's no excuse red-eyed pale cheat stood a little way back, silent on the defensive Doggy, looking from one to the other said quietly a triangular explanation is scarcely decent perhaps you might let me have a word or two with Peggy yes, it would be best she whispered I'll be in the dining room if you want me said Oliver and went out Doggy took her hand and very gently led her to a chair let her sit down there, said he now we can talk more comfortably first, before we touch on this situation let me say something to you it may ease things Peggy, humiliated, did not look at him she nodded all right I made up my mind this morning to sell Demby Hall and its contents I've given old Spooner instructions she'd lanced at him involuntarily sell Demby Hall yes dear you see, I've made up my mind definitely if I'm spared, not to live in Durglebury after the war what were you thinking of doing she asked, in a low voice that would depend on after-war circumstances anyhow, I was coming to you when I entered the room with my decision I knew, of course, that it wouldn't please you that you would have something to say to it perhaps something very serious what do you mean by something very serious a hard little contract, dear, said Doggy was based on the understanding that you would not be uprooted from the place in which are all your life's associations if I break that understanding it would leave you a free agent to determine the contract as the lawyers say so perhaps, Peggy dear, we might dismiss well, other considerations and just discuss this Peggy twisted a rag of handkerchief and waved it for a moment then she broke out with fresh tears on her cheek you're a dear of dears to put it that way only you could do it I've been a brutal boy but I couldn't help it I did try to play the game you did, Peggy dear you've been wonderful and although it didn't look like it I was trying to play the game when you came in I really was and so was he she rose and threw the handkerchief away from her I'm not going to step out of the engagement and drive the side door you've left open for me you dear old simple thing it stands if you like we're all honourable people and Oliver she drew a sharp little breath Oliver will go out of our lives Doggy smiled he had risen and taking her hands kissed them I've never known what a splendid Peggy it is until I lose her look here dear here's the whole thing in a nutshell well I've been morbidly occupied by myself and my grievances and my disgrace and my efforts to pull through and I've gradually developed into a sort of half-breed between a Tommy and a gentleman with every mortal thing in me warped and changed you've stuck to the original rotten ass you lashed into the semblance of a man in this very room goodness knows how many months or years or centuries ago in my infernal selfishness I've treated you awfully badly no you haven't she decided stoutly yes I have the ordinary girl would have told her living an experiment like me to go hang long before this but you didn't and now you see a totally different sort of doggy and you're making yourself miserable because he's a queer unsympathetic unfamiliar stranger all that may be so she said meeting his eyes bravely but if the unfamiliar doggy still cares for me it doesn't matter here was a delicate situation two very tender-skinned vanities opposed to each other the smart of seeing one's affianced bride in the arms of another man hurts grievously sore it's a primitive sex affair independent of love in its modern sense if the savage's abandoned squaw runs off with another fellow he pursues him with clubs and tomahawks until he's avenged the insult having known me to decline to spotty crocodile so the finest flower of civilization cannot surrender the lady who once was his to the more favoured male without a primitive pang on the other hand doggy knew very well that he did not love Peggy that he had never loved Peggy but how in common decency could a man tell a girl who'd wasted a couple of years of her life over him that he had never loved her instead of replying to her questions he walked about the room in a worried way I take it said Peggy incisively after a while that you don't care for me any longer he turned and halted at the challenge he snapped his fingers what was the good of all this beating of the bush look here Peggy let's face it out if you'll confess that you and Oliver are in love with each other I'll confess to a girl in France oh? said Peggy with a swift change to coolness there's a girl in France is there how long has this been going on? the last four days in billets before I got wounded said doggy what is she like? then doggy suddenly laughed out loud and took her by the shoulders in a grasp rougher than she'd ever dreamed to lie in the strength or nature of Marmaduke Trevor and kissed her the heartiest honestest kiss she'd ever had from man and rushed out of the room presently he returned to his consulate major yeah, said he fixed it up between you I've told Peggy about a girl in France and Gina wants to know what she's like Peggy shaken by the rude grip and the kiss flashed and cried rebediously I'm not quite so sure that I want to fix it up with Oliver oh yes you do cried Oliver he snatched up doggy's cap and jammed it on doggy's head and cried doggy you're the best and truest and finest of dear old chaps in the whole wide world doggy settled his cap grinned and moved to the door anything else, sir? Oliver roared delighted no private Trevor you can go very good, sir doggy saluted smartly and went out he passed through the French window of the dining-room into the familiar autumn sunshine found himself standing in front of Chipmunk who still smoked the pipe of elegant leisure by the door of the garage this is a damn good old world all the same isn't it? said he if he was always like this he would have its points replying the arm where it's Chipmunk doggy had an inspiration he looked at his watch it was nearly one o'clock hungry? always hungry especially about dinner time come along of me to the Downshire Arms and have a bite of dinner Chipmunk rose slowly to his feet and took the pipe into his tunic pocket and jerked to slow thumb backwards aren't you having your meals here? only now and then as sort of treats, said doggy come along Christ, said Chipmunk can you wait a bit until I've cleaned my buttons? oh, bust your old buttons craft doggy I'm hungry so the pair of privates marched through the old city to the Downshire Arms the select old world hotel of Dirtlebury where doggy was known since babyhood and there, sitting at a window-table with Chipmunk he gave Dirtlebury the great sensation of its life if the dean himself clad in tights and spangles had juggled for pence by the west door of the cathedral tongues could scarcely have wagged faster but doggy wired his head about gossip not one jot he was in joyous mood and ordered a gargantuan feast for Chipmunk and bottles of the strongest old burgundy such as he thought would get a grip on Chipmunk's whisky-fied throat and under the genial influence of food and drink Chipmunk told him tales of far lands and strange adventures and when they emerged much later into the quiet streets it was the great good fortune of Chipmunk's life that there was not the ghost of an assistant provost marshal in Dirtlebury doggy old man said all over afterwards my wonder and reverence for you increases you are the only man in the whole world who has ever made Chipmunk drunk you see said doggy modestly I don't think he ever really loved anyone who fed him before end of chapter 21